You couldn't ask a king.

3:00am.

Yesterday I started taking to thinking a lot on the nature of bad dreams. In different ways they could be nightmares, and in another way they could be rotted aspirations. Or, they're both all the time. Depending on who you are.

I've known a lot of people who have bad dreams in different directions. There's a lot that can happen in sleep, besides passing the time. Do you remember the time I hung from that swingset in the sky, watching the sea in the distance intentedly while whales flipped in and out of the waves, splashing the rolling meadows, and then how I swung to the highest arc and then jumped out of the seat? Do you remember the time I broke everything into splinters until all the world around me was just empty black space and I fell, and then the time I figured out how to destroy the human skeleton from inside the locked human body, without saying a word? And that time with the telephone call, the forgiveness that would not come, and then waking up and getting dressed and going to work with my head down. And how it all happened outside of sleep. The relief cut. That dumb early morning sigh.

Before getting into bed I came over to write this. Before coming over to write this I took a swig of rum, then a swig of NyQuil, then another of rum. Right now I'm going to head downstairs to have another of both, then I'll brush my teeth and see you later.

Yours,
JARET.